If there's an enduring theme in my work, it's probably the effects of class on American life.

When authors who write literary fiction begin to write screenplays, everybody assumes that's the end. Here's another who's never going to write well again.

I'm delighted by how Nobody's Fool turned out. It was a rare movie.

Worse, I have to admit to feeling the jealousy of one crab for another that has managed to climb out of the barrel.

Structure is one of the things that I always hope will reveal itself to me.

I read pretty voraciously. If it's good, I don't care what it is.

As I drift back into sleep, I can't help thinking that it's a wonderful thing to be right about the world. To weigh the evidence, always incomplete, and correctly intuit the whole, to see the world in a grain of sand, to recognize its beauty, its simplicity, its truth. It's as close as we get to God in this life, and reside in the glow of such brief flashes of understanding, fully awake, sometimes for two or three seconds, at peace with our existence. And then back to sleep we go.